Being There
by Miss-Murdered
Summary: Duo is sent on an undercover operation to a rock club and someone he doesn't expect tracks him down. 2x3. One-shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, obviously...

Pairing: 2x3x2

Warnings: yaoi, m/m sexual relations, swearing, angstiness, some hinted sapness, slightly damaged Duo

A/N: This is inspired by a conversation about the lack of 2x3 fics and the desire to write a club fic though I admit, it really didn't end up how I intended...

And yes, this club exists though it is a mash up of a few rock clubs I've been to over the years. I just couldn't resist using the name the Cockpit after the Leeds Cockpit ;-p

Beta'd by ELLE and for missAmberly

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**Being There**

It was a piss poor excuse of a mission. A coupla weeks in a small time club in some city in northern England and the only reason he was here was the fact that the drugs that were being dealt out of said club were being cut with something that made kids go into seizures and vomit up their insides and die within a few hours. The origins of the drugs were hazy, unknown, and needed to be traced before they became more widespread. Or maybe it was just limited to one place, one time, one dumb as fuck dealer mixing coke or ecstasy or heroin with stuff they just shouldn't.

Duo knew the reason he'd been sent on the mission. He supposed he should be insulted and maybe he would've been in the past but the Preventers were using this as a test run after Namibia and he knew they wanted to give him a small opportunity to prove that he was now in the right headspace to be sent undercover after three months out of the field. He knew he was being monitored more than he'd ever been – he used to have some privileges due to his background, no wires attached to his chest, no chips embedded in his wrists as there was an implicit trust in his abilities. That was before the shit-storm in Southern Africa and the child soldiers with big eyes and the smell of charred burning bodies in holes in the damn ground and generals who were quite happy to send them to their deaths.

Fuck. He hated thinking about it still as he took a swig of his beer and watched the crowd in front of him. It wasn't a dance club and he thanked all kinda gods and karma and whatever the hell else as he didn't think he could've tolerated that for a few weeks despite the easiness of the mission. It was called the Cockpit, which he'd sniggered at in his briefing for some unknown childish reason. Damn, he was twenty-four but then he'd wondered whether he was being sent to go undercover in a gay club with that name – but alas, no. It was a rock club, old, older than the colonies, located underneath a railway bridge so that to enter you went down thin stairs where vibrations could be felt against the walls as the last trains home departed.

He leaned against a wall drinking his beer, the fingers of the hand not occupied holding the bottle touching the stickers and posters and flyers for bands that covered all the walls. They covered every inch of the place up until the high vaulted curved ceiling and he picked a little at one before stopping himself as this place had history. A different kinda history than the museums and the churches and the buildings that people thought of as history but it was still a history.

Duo idly wondered how many first kisses happened on the dance floor with its sticky surface, how many quick fucks in the bathrooms with pen scrawls covering every damn surface, how many bands had played the stage and how many kids had vomited up their drugs or alcohol or whatever.

It was a better kinda history than the pompous ass tours of cities ever told you about.

It was funny, he supposed, that he thought of them as kids around him – those people on the dance floor while some loud song played, the bass hammering the walls – as really he wasn't that much older but then he had a warped perspective of age as he didn't have a childhood and spent his teens blowing shit up. It kinda fucked with the ordinary time-line of life events and he felt he could call the boys in skinny jeans with tight tee's and tats and the girls with tighter shirts, skinnier jeans and bows and bandanas in their hair kids as he'd never really been one.

The night wasn't that busy – it was a Wednesday and he'd soon discovered that the only real night the dealers seemed to be around was Friday but he thought he'd better turn up and look like he was vaguely interested in doing his job since they were monitoring him so damn closely. Scared he'd flip or something.

It was too damn hot in the club despite the lack of people – maybe because of the energetic styles of he guessed what could be classed as dancing and he reached into the pocket of his jeans to find his lighter and his cigarettes, thinking about taking a smoke to get some air and maybe call the whole night off. It was going on 1:00 a.m. and nothing more interesting than some drunken making out had happened and he'd consumed two beers far too slowly, been propositioned only once by some chick with backcombed blonde hair which he couldn't decide was because of the scowl on his face or the fact that maybe he just wasn't looking that hot. He blended in with the crowd – probably another more practical reason they'd sent him – as tight skinny jeans and tattoos were kinda his thing but he didn't want to be there. Not one damn bit.

Maybe it was time to give up on Prev. Think of doing something else. As shit, he knew he couldn't deal with another Namibia or more accurately, the backwash from it.

The three months of intensive therapy. The shit ton of medical and psych appointments and the constant suspicion that everyone had that he was on the damn edge. He finished his beer, swallowed the last drops and didn't feel buzzed at all and he wished he could get buzzed like the kids around him. He wondered about dabbling with other shit but then he thought about Trowa and how he was there through it all, surprising him, making him stay at his place in the immediate aftermath as he was the one that was around. And he'd be sure as shit fucking pissed if he did anything dumb.

Oh hell, he wasn't the only one around. He was the one he'd been occasionally fucking around with but then, he really didn't want to end up in Winner Mansion and be looked after by servants and glanced at with puppy dog eyes and being asked every few hours if he was okay. And he sure as hell found the prospect of staying with Heero completely and utterly terrifying despite their status as best buddies. Or as near as _anyone_ got to being buddies with Heero. As he'd known what it would be like. Heero would go to bed at exactly 22:30 p.m. and he'd expect him to clean up after himself straight away and he'd expect the spare bed to be made with utter careful precision and sometimes, he even wondered, if he brought a ruler out to check the angles or something. The guy was that anally retentive and really, he valued Heero as a friend. And if he'd have to stay with him for more than two nights one of them was going to end up dead. Heero may have been stronger than him but then Duo was a sneaky bastard. It would not have ended pretty.

And he snorted under his breath thinking of the other option. The less said of staying with Wufei the better. He'd done it once. To say they clashed when placed in a small space was the world's biggest understatement. It really was surprising there was no blood on the walls.

It was Trowa who came to his door the day he'd been discharged – who saw he was drunk and maybe a little too chilled out which meant he'd taken something – and just packed up his bag. Duo had watched him to do it hazily, leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom as Trowa decided what were necessary items for him. Clothes. Toiletries from the adjoining bathroom. His tablet. And he'd looked at him a little confused as really, he wasn't used to be pushed around or ordered or told to do anything and he knew he was a stubborn motherfucker. But then Trowa was a stubborn motherfucker. It kinda worked.

"You're staying with me."

It was one of the only things he said as he tipped Duo's head to look directly up at him, the duffle bag packed on his shoulder and Duo didn't actually argue as damn, he hated to admit it with every fibre of his being, but he didn't want to be alone. Didn't want to be in his apartment and smell the stink of burning bodies and feel so helpless and goddamn useless.

Trowa didn't initiate anything in Duo's apartment even when Duo licked his dry lips and thought about bridging the distance between them. It wasn't like they hadn't done it before. They'd fucked a few times but then it wasn't a consistent thing – they'd done it once still half dressed in suits at a soiree of Relena's as they both avoided the whole dancing part of the evening with the quick wits of men who'd grown up knowing when shit got dangerous and it got _damn _dangerous when the idea of dancing with some politician's daughter came into. Neither of them wanted that. Instead, they found a spot away from the prying security cameras and curious glances and Duo had never really thought of Trowa in that way as such. It was not quite true as, after all, he'd seen him in his circus clothes – or more accurately, the lack of clothes – and he was damn attractive but it wasn't until his hot mouth was on his throat and his hands were dragging his hips into his did he realise, yeah, he'd always had a little thing for Trowa – just never had got the opportunity to explore that.

It was the first night he'd had a damn nightmare that he'd found himself moved from Trowa's spare bedroom to Trowa's bed – and that had only taken a few nights as the first few days after the whole discharge from the Preventer hospital was spent not sleeping. Duo tried to test how long he could go without sleep, just knowing, damn well knowing, where his freaky as fuck brain would go given the opportunity and he would combine the dreams of small children burning in pits in sub-Saharan Africa with his own memories of a church in ruins. Trowa didn't push him – didn't really say much beyond the mundane and it made Duo think he'd made the right decision. That Trowa wasn't going to make him break down and tell the whole sorry tale. Instead, he was there with a glance, with a reassuring brush of skin, with all those things that were so damn subtle but made Duo feel like he was being protected or something. From what he wasn't sure.

The night he had that first nightmare, actually damn slept – the attempt to read something on his tablet failing and his head falling forward onto his chest – he'd woken up and just walked down the small hall to where Trowa's room was. He'd stopped for a second, thinking that maybe just because they'd had sex a few times that he shouldn't cross the threshold as really, Trowa was doing too damn much for him. Letting him stay, feeding him, making him feel less alone.

"Duo?"

He'd heard that voice, soft in the middle of the night, and he'd walked across to the bed and Trowa's hair was endearingly sleep mussed and his eyes dark in the dim light. Duo had climbed onto the bed, on top of Trowa's body and said only a few words.

"I don't wanna sleep alone."

The kiss then had been less heated than their previous encounters, Trowa pulling him down towards him and trailing his mouth over his, pulling at his lower lip and then mouthing over his jawline. He didn't sleep alone from then on. It was an unspoken thing but each night, they slipped into bed together and it didn't damn matter that they did or didn't initiate sex or whatever. It got comfortable. Duo had gotten used to it.

Then Trowa had been sent undercover again just as it had been when they'd been fooling around. The reason they'd only had occasional fucks rather than anything else was they both worked undercover and hell, that was a big clash in schedules as an undercover assignment could last anything between a coupla weeks to a coupla years.

"You can stay here."

Trowa had offered him that, that he didn't have to go back to the apartment he had avoided for two months and even if Trowa wasn't in his damn apartment, it was better than his own which he'd only gone back to a few times to collect clothes and some more belongings and check his mail. So Duo stayed for the last month on his own until he was sent here – the trial run to make sure he hadn't gone bat-shit crazy after Namibia and remembered how to act like an undercover agent without pointing a gun in the faces of everyone he met.

He placed his beer bottle down on the floor near the wall and walked through the heat of the club, brushing past a few of the dancing kids. They all felt hot against his skin, even in the briefest moments of contact, and he gave a few a once over to see if they showed the signs of whatever the drug was that was so damn dangerous. It was probably just the heat of the place – how it was below damn street level and the way the ceiling curved back on itself that made the place so stifling. Duo was beginning to think he preferred colder places but then he supposed he'd grown up on a colony that had one temperature all year around. And Namibia had been damn hot and dusty. He'd hated it.

Duo walked up the stairs, remembering to get his hand stamped on the way out even though he probably was going to give it up for the night and leave. The stamp left the word Cockpit against the back of his hand in black smudges and he smirked at it as he brought out cigarettes and a lighter, finally hitting the cool fall night air.

A few kids lurked around the entrance as they had done the same thing as him, wanting a damn smoke and a moment to be outside, and so to be alone he walked around to find an alley away from the club but he could still hear the music drifting, loud and basey. He lit his cigarette as he walked, his small vice seeming little in comparison to all the shit he could potentially do and had been tempted to do since the whole mission but Trowa had stopped all that. He'd even stopped him having nightmares, not sure whether it was the fact that he didn't sleep alone or that Trowa was just the calming force in his life that he'd always wanted and never had.

If he'd been buzzed, he'd have thought he was just walking away from the club and no one was watching him or following him but then he was over-sensitized to that – he'd never been a victim and sure as shit would not start being one. But even as he walked away, he knew that he was not in danger and he wanted to damn smirk. It was impossible but fuck… there was one person in the whole earth sphere who was as sneaky as he was and that person was undercover somewhere in the colonies. He decided to play a little, walking more slowly, more deliberately, a slight, he supposed, sashay to his stride if he was gonna admit it.

He took a deep breath of the cigarette before throwing it to the floor and putting it out with his boot.

"You can come out, ya know."

It was a taunt and he knew it, he reached for his blade even though he knew his stalker was no threat but this… this was kinda interesting and they'd never really fought one another. Yeah, Trowa had punched him in the stomach once and it had winded him but he wondered what it would be like when Trowa was riled up and there was a little hint of violence.

They'd been domesticated since he'd stayed at his place and it was nice, safe and he appreciated everything Trowa had done for him – all the meals cooked, all the times he forced him off the damn couch, all the times they had fucked around in his bed but there was something in this situation where Duo felt like who he was – that he'd been trying to hide and pretend that he didn't need some excitement and adrenalin. That despite the hell of Namibia, he was a soldier and he belonged in the field – in the proper field not in some dumb fuck club watching some kids get high.

The answer to the taunt was an attack he didn't quite expect though he braced for it and found himself pinned against the wall of the alleyway, the hand holding his blade had a vice around it, thin fingers tight around his wrist making it drop to the ground with a loud rattle.

"You coulda just said hello," Duo said with a smirk as he met green eyes.

"This was more fun."

His only answer was to move against the grip, putting his hips into contact with Trowa's and grinding just a little against his so that his grip loosened. It loosened enough for him to use his leg as leverage in between Trowa's and distract – a tactic he knew well – and then he reversed their positions so that Trowa was pinned against the wall of the alleyway, Duo's hands on his shoulders, the material of his jacket soft against his fingers.

"You checking up on me? Thought you were on L1 or somethin'."

"Finished early," Trowa replied, a tongue swiping across his lips unconsciously.

"So I do need checking up on?"

"First mission after…"

Duo knew what he was going to say – the same thing the psychologists had and the fucking doctors and his supervisor and Une and probably the rest of the damn ex-pilots but he didn't have to hear it so he crushed his lips to Trowa's pushing him harder against the wall with his body. It wasn't done gently as he tried to be aggressive in the way he titled his head to mash their lips together, in the way he pushed his hips forward as he needed to show Trowa he was not damaged goods – that he didn't need to be sent on some bullshit thing as he was fine. More than that. He could go back into the field without being treated with kid gloves. Shinigami, after all, was not some ordinary agent.

It wasn't as though Trowa was protesting the rough kiss or Duo's intensity. He was responding, his hands grabbing the leather jacket as Duo lips trailed across his jaw, feeling hints of stubble that indicated how he'd probably come straight from whatever the mission was and sought him out. He wondered for a second about how he'd found him – but as he licked at the side of his face, he didn't really give a damn as it had been a month since Trowa had gone from his apartment, and hell, despite the whole nature of undercover work, Duo was pretty damn sure there were a few people in the world who could bypass any Prev encryption. And they all had piloted Gundams.

"I want to fuck you," he said, his mouth at Trowa's ear and he showed his intention by grinding his hips into Trowa's, the hardness in his own jeans meeting a counterpart.

It wasn't that he hadn't fucked Trowa before but he felt the other man shiver – whether from the crudity of his words or whether from the cold of an autumn evening but hell, he could feel the response to him. Maybe he'd got used to their arrangement, to the hours they'd spent tucked up together in his sheets and maybe he needed it as much as Duo did. They'd not fucked in anything but bed since Relena's soiree. No impromptu shower sex like he'd enjoyed with his long list of temporary bed partners or anything more exciting than a few position changes. Yeah, Duo had been healing, Duo maybe had been fucked over by nightmares and needed gentle but now he really didn't as bit at the earlobe near his mouth.

"I want to fuck you here, right now, fuck you like you want me to."

He emphasised his words by a hand reaching down to Trowa's dick and he got a moan in response whether from what he was saying or from his touch. He wasn't sure but he got the feeling that he kind of liked the dirty talk thing – many guys did – but then he also was undoing a button and feeling for a zipper so the moan could've been of pleasure or anticipation. Both were a turn on.

Duo remembered how it had been that first time, all hot and uncontrolled, when Trowa had pushed him against the wall and it was like playing that game again – though this time with a slightly altered scenario. He moved his mouth back to Trowa's lips as his hand bypassed material and he felt his cock, hard, hot and his own pulsed in response. A month wasn't a long time to go without sex, often it was in the very nature of the job that they did as it was a damn bad idea to fuck around with someone when undercover but right now he didn't think it would last long. Not that it damn needed to when they were grinding up against each other in an alleyway.

There was a brief wrestle with Duo's belt, the studs on it and the buckle providing a moment of difficulty. In hindsight, he shoulda just moved backwards and undone it himself but there was an impatience between them – oh that awesome level of impatience that came before good, hot, dirty sex – and backing up to facilitate removing clothes meant that they'd no longer be touching from chest to groin and that wasn't going to happen. And removing their hands from each other seemed too damn difficult.

It was about to go further, to the point of no return where sex would be inevitable when the clip clop of unsteady heels was far too close and then the unpleasant sound of vomiting.

Duo broke off the kiss to see and used his body to shield Trowa any potential embarrassment as the chick had her hair pulled back by some loyal friend – they hadn't been seen, too focused on the task of being sick and probably walking in a straight line but it sure was a mood killer. He looked up at Trowa and removed his hand from inside his pants. He gave him a half smile, suddenly, the intense need to have dirty sex gone and really, it had been a stupid as shit idea. Alleyway sex. Classy. And no condoms. No lube. It wouldn't have really worked. And not been as fun as the initial sexual energy had been.

He let Trowa readjust his clothes, still using his own body to hide anything and then stepped back a little to find Trowa's hand around his wrist as he tried to step away.

"You okay?"

Duo blinked at the words, yeah, he was fine. Or maybe he wasn't. He'd not been like that with Trowa before – yeah their first encounter had been all hot and impatient but he'd not acted like that. He was sure a psychologist had said he used sex like a drug or something and it was just as destructive as other vices. Shit. Maybe he wasn't as "fine" as he bullshitted himself.

"Yeah."

It was lame answer – lame, as they walked away from the alleyway, Duo glancing at the girl who looked a little pale, a little shaky but not vomiting anymore and he could only let a little smirk cross his lips. It hadn't been the best way to be interrupted but hell, at least they were walking to an actual room, to an actual bed and Trowa was there as he'd been since the beginning of his whole "episode."

It wasn't a bad place that Prev had provided him with. He'd stayed in worse undercover – Namibia had been dusty huts and tents and old military compounds with hospital beds and he wanted to make some comment to Trowa about the flat as they stepped inside. It was near the club, near the railway line and in the morning, at around 5:30 a.m. he'd be woken by the rattling of the early morning trains. It all kinda seemed old-fashioned to a colony boy.

"It ain't much," is what he would've said but Trowa didn't give him the opportunity as he resumed the kiss from the alleyway and Duo wasn't going to complain as it was more gentle than they'd achieved there, jackets discarded and clothing slowly removed rather than the whole alleyway rough sex thing.

He didn't get it – never got it as he found the belt removed more expertly this time and his t-shirt moved up so that lips were on his stomach with Trowa sliding to his knees – why it was Trowa who came through for him.

He didn't complain as he found lips around his dick and his hands were embedded in soft hair and he was moving it aside to see two closed eyes and a look of determination and... care? Fuck, he wasn't sure what was happening here – never been sure with Trowa but he'd been there when he needed him every step of the way and always so damn reassuring and he didn't get it.

Maybe he sensed he was close – he was, the alleyway attack and grinding providing fucked up foreplay – but Trowa went back onto his heels and Duo slid to his own knees, tangled in his jeans and boxers.

"Shit – why'd you find me?"

He saw a flicker of expression. The room was pretty damn dark as turning on lights had been disturbed by the groping and kissing but Duo could see something.

"You found me."

Duo cocked his head and didn't know what to say to that. He knew what he was referring to and it wasn't that he'd done anything during the damn war. He'd not been Quatre and tried to drag him back to fight – he'd just suffered the wrath of Cathy and nearly got a knife thrown at his head.

He swallowed, his throat constricting uncomfortably and leaned forward. "Damn," he said, his lips against Trowa's but he didn't finish his sentence – didn't say anything else. Coulda said a million things. None of them were relevant or right as they kissed on the damn floor, pant zippers undone and shirts being removed until they decided that the floor was not the best location considering there was a bed a few feet away.

People always thought that Duo had a verbal response for everything – that was his thing – but for that he had nothing as he slid his lips over Trowa's neck, down towards his pectoral muscles, his tongue licking at the relief of muscles as he did so, laving briefly around a nipple until he went further down. He felt Trowa's hand reach for his braid, didn't mind it – told so many guys that it was off limits but Trowa didn't pull, didn't use it like a fucking leash, instead, he let it slide through his fingers in some kinda reverence and that he could deal with. Maybe he liked it.

He kissed down further, smirking against stomach muscles that jumped at the attention being paid to them and he heard his name murmured – a sign of growing impatience and he took pity. Well, briefly, as he reached the head of his cock and lapped his tongue around it, tasting and flicking at the slit until he seriously thought one of them would explode. He slid off the bed, searching for lube and condoms that he thought he might need. Hey, he was a guy still and he didn't know quite where he stood with Trowa so they were something he carried around. When he returned from the bathroom, he saw that Trowa had remained motionless, watching him move, and when he settled back between his legs their eyes met and Duo felt uncomfortable – more naked than actual nakedness.

"Thanks," he said, unsure what he was damn thanking him for.

It wasn't for sex, or for being so damn open with him, and it wasn't for finding him there, walking out of a club and hitting the cold night air – it was something else. For being the one who had turned up, the one that had been there and Duo felt something in his chest constrict as he looked down at the level of trust that Trowa had for him and wanted to make him feel good, like he'd done that first night he'd walked from that spare room to Trowa's bed and he'd made him forget.

"Don't mention it."

Duo could only give a little chuckle before returning his mouth to where Trowa demanded attention, letting his fingers slide and prepare until they were both far too gone to last beyond a few minutes but hell, it didn't matter. He slid his lips off Trowa's dick and his fingers out, wiping away excess lube onto the sheets and ripping at the packet before moving into position and putting his hands at either side of Trowa's torso, groaning slightly at the first moments of tight, hot, warmth as it had been too long.

He stilled once fully inside and it was difficult to think of anything but the desire to pound, to move, to forget about everything like the kids in the clubs tried to who did the dumb as fuck drugs that got them killed. But Duo didn't do that – only stopped his hips, licked at Trowa's throat and felt the fingers gently move down his braid until he knew he could move – take it as slow as possible. To make it more than the alleyway would've been, a quick high, a quick fuck and this was entirely different.

With his head buried at the juncture of Trowa's collarbone, he thrust his hips forward, encouraged by each downward movement. He could feel the press of the dick trapped between them across his abdomen and he could hear the hitching of breath in the otherwise silent room.

"I… fuck," he managed to say – wanted to say he couldn't last long against the pale sweaty skin but Trowa probably knew that as he moved his had to jerk himself off in time to the movement of Duo's hips.

He titled his mouth back up to Trowa's lips as he felt climax approach and he kissed him, hot and hard and needy as he felt his own release collide and he thrust a few more times, riding it out as he felt Trowa spasm underneath him.

"You okay?" Trowa asked, quietly repeating the words from earlier as they lay in the dark, their breathing having returned to normal as Duo moved off him to lie beside him, tight up against each other in the single bed but not spooning, not cuddling, just enough distance between them.

"Not totally… but I guess, I will be." He smirked and turned to face him, his head propped up on his elbow. "You got anywhere better to be for a while?"

"No."

"Fancy working some bullshit assignment in a shitty rock club for a few weeks?"

"No place I'd rather be."

Duo laid back on the bed, ignoring the crusty stickiness for the time being, and yeah, he still really didn't get why Trowa found him or was there for him but he really didn't care as he was there and it would make this piss poor excuse of a mission a fuck ton better.


End file.
